I Is for Innocent

bar," he said.
    Rosie ignored his attempt at humor and moved off toward the bar. I didn't dare look at Henry, because I knew I'd smirk. Rosie had William eating out of her hand. While Henry had been mocking and I'd been polite, Rosie was treating William with the utmost seriousness. I had no idea where she intended to go from here, but William seemed to be thoroughly disarmed by the approach.
    "Doctor never said anything about spirits," he repeated staunchly.
    "It can't hurt," I supplied just to keep the game afloat. Maybe she meant to get him drunk, soften his defenses so she could tell him the truth – for a man his age, he was as healthy as a horse.
    "I wouldn't want to do anything counterproductive to my long-term treatment," he said.
    "Oh, for God's sake. Have a drink," Henry snapped.
    Under the table, I placed my foot on top of Henry's and applied some pressure. His expression shifted. "Yes, well, that just reminded me. Grandfather Pitts partook of occasional spirits. You remember that, don't you, William? I can still picture him on the front porch, sitting in his rocking chair, sipping his tumbler of Black Jack."
    "But then he died," William said.
    "Of course he died! The man was a hundred and one years old!"
    William's expression shut down. "You needn't shout."
    "Well, shit! People in the Bible didn't live as long as he did. He was healthy. He was hale and hearty. Everybody in our family –"
    "Hennnnrrry, you're losing it," I sang.
    He was abruptly silent. Rosie was returning to the table with a tray in hand. She'd brought a glass of white wine for me, a beer for Henry, plus two liqueur glasses and a small ornate bottle filled with amber liquid. William had obediently risen to his feet again. He pulled a chair out for her. She put the tray down and sent him a simpering smile. "Such a gentleman," she said and actually batted her eyes. "Very nice." She passed the wine to me, the beer to Henry, and then sat down. "Permit me, please," she said to William.
    "Just the tiniest amount," he said.
    "I'm telling you the amount," she said. "I'm showing you how to drink. Like this." She poured sherry to the rim of the small glass and placed it to her lips. She tossed her head back and drained the contents. She dabbed the corners of her mouth daintily with the knuckle of her index finger. "Now you," she said. She filled a second liqueur glass and handed it to William.
    He hesitated.
    "Do what I'm telling you," she said.
    William did as she was telling him. As soon as the alcohol hit the back of his throat, he began to shudder... a wonderful involuntary spasm that started in his shoulders and traveled rapidly down his spine. "My stars!"
    " 'My stars!' is correct," she said. She studied him slyly and her chuckle was positively lascivious. She poured them both another round, tossing her shot down like some old cowboy in a John Wayne movie. Having got the hang of it, William did likewise. A bit of color had come up in his cheeks. Henry and I were watching with mute amazement.
    "Done!" Rosie banged a hand on the table and gathered herself together. She stood, placing the sherry bottle and the two glasses carefully on her tray again. "Tomorrow. Two o'clock. Is like medicine. Very strict. Now I bring you dinner. I know just what you need. Don't argue."
    I could feel my heart sink. I knew dinner would consist of some incredible concoction of Hungarian spices and saturated fats, but I didn't have the nerve to flee.
    William watched her depart. "That's remarkable," he said. "I believe I can actually feel my blood pressure drop."

Chapter 17
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    I slept badly that night and jogged Friday morning in a halfhearted fashion. Morley's funeral was scheduled for 10:00 and I was dreading it. There were still too many questions up in the air and I felt as if I'd been responsible for most of them. Lonnie would be coming back from Santa Maria as soon as he wrapped up his court case. I still had a batch of subpoenas Morley'd never served, but it didn't make sense to try to get those out until I knew where things stood. Lonnie might not be going into court at all. I showered and then dug around in my underwear drawer, searching for a pair of panty hose that didn't look like kittens had been climbing up the legs. The drawer was a jumble of old T-shirts and mismatched socks. I was really going to have to get in there and get it organized one day. I put on my all-purpose dress, which is perfect for funerals: black with long sleeves, in some